Rocket developments

So I was called into a meeting yesterday. I had been waiting for this to happen. Indeed, it was overdue. I was to sit down with both of the owners and discuss details of recent events.

Since I had hours to kill before the meeting, and an enormous tension skating about under my skin, I walked down Fountain Avenue to Cole where my gym is located. I spent a good hour and half working out every muscle Gold’s Gym has a machine for. Fabio was there, and someone who looked like Fabio. Perhaps it was his brother. Then I walked back home, taking Willoughby to Formosa.

I had just enough time to take a shower, dress up and dig through my boxes in search of my microcassette recorder. I found it at last. There was a tape in the machine. I hadn’t used the thing in ten years, so I guessed it was a recording of me, rambling some lame idea into the mic on the commute from Santa Barbara to Camarillo. When I pressed play, however, something like feedback blasted out of the speaker. I tried rewinding. Same thing. I tried recording. The feedback sounded like a dying cow.

That wouldn’t do. I couldn’t walk into a meeting with a dying cow in my backpack. But I really wanted to play espionage and get a recording if anything weird went down. So I went to Radio Shack, plunked down $40 for a basic cassette recorder and headed to work. I was exceptionally nervous for some reason. I had no idea what was gonna come out of the meeting, and my intention to record it just made it all the worse. I don’t know how those cops do it. I wouldn’t last five seconds in an underover operation.

The meeting was more or less as I expected. We zeroed in on the minor infractions and then touched on the biggie (the possible thefts.) Of course, I maintained my innocence throughout. Back and forth and back and forth until we had no place left to go but home. Before we wrapped things up, however, Bonehead pulled out a sheet for me to sign. It was an agreement to allow investigation of my background by a private investigation firm. I refused to sign, not because I have anything to hide (my credit rating’s not good, I havan’t had a speeding ticket since 1986, I’ve never been fired from anywhere) but because it seemed like he was saying that keeping my job was contingent on digging through my past. He basically stated that he would be convinced of my innocence of the current troubles if I allowed the investigation. That doesn’t make sense. He’s just gonna have to take my word for it.

The meeting wrapped up well, I think. I got to state my case. That’s all I really wanted. Boss and Bonehead said they’d discuss things and I’d get back to them. Even though I told them I would take twenty-four hours to decide on whether I would sign the release or not, I knew I wouldn’t. And interestingly, later on that night, Boss called me to tell me that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.

After the meeting I returned home and spent a couple hours on the phone, mixed a good, dark session on the turntables and made it through my cinematic mood elevator, Valley Girl.

Then this morning, Boss called me to tell me that he talked to Bonehead and he agreed that I could keep the job, same shifts and everything.

Well whaddya know? Do I keep the job? Or do I bail now?

About the author: will

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